


Paper and Tin

by Swagreus (shiplizard)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Office, Desk Sex, Don't Try This At Home, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Fantasy Fulfillment, Identity Porn, M/M, Multi, Porn with Feelings, Threesome, Unsubverted trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/Swagreus
Summary: Business partners and husbands Jack and Gabriel are about to miss their anniversary together for the first time in ten years.Jack knows just the consolation gift his husband needs, though.(A birthday gift for SleeplessCap on Twitter-- from the AO3 generator prompts 'get ready for office orgasms' and 'wholesome barebacking')





	Paper and Tin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainNeedsNoSleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNeedsNoSleep/gifts).



> Warning: This fic hits a very specific fantasy trope that works out great for everyone involved because this is fiction, and is a big old no-fly in real life. For more more specific and spoilery details, please check out the end notes. 
> 
> Gabe's bitterness toward german engineers is written with love and does not reflect the opinions of the management.

Down on the first floor, the janitor throws the main light switch, and the lights flick off with a last fluorescent buzz all through the building. The office of the CFO plunges into darkness, dropping Gabriel Reyes into shadows as he sits and stares blankly at his computer. 

It’s not the first time Gabe’s been in the office this late-- it’s not the tenth time-- but tonight he doesn’t reach for the desk lamp. Tonight, his body language isn’t intent, focused-- but defeated. 

Fucking Eastern Trucking. Fucking Germans, fucking deadlines. 

When he bought this company, eleven-- no, twelve years ago, now-- it was with his best friend by his side. Jack didn’t have his genius for systems, but as a human interfaces expert-- and as an expert in interfacing with humans-- he complemented Gabe. They had that often-spoken-of-rarely-achieved ‘synergy’, a crackling potential instead of a buzzword. They dragged the newly re-christened Watchpoint Software up from nothing, from all the other flailing failing dot-com failures. Bought their competitors, kept and empowered the employees of those competitors, scraped and crunched and GREW. They have a turnover rate approaching the single digits, not one but two flagship products that lead the industry-- Blackwatch is the most-installed antivirus software in America for the sixth year running and OverWatch is a breath away from being a generic name for corporate document management. 

Quietly, behind the scenes, something grew quicker and much more sweetly than their market share. Two best friends started the company… but newlywed husbands brought it to IPO, ten years ago tomorrow. 

He and Jack have sacrificed sleep, sanity, health for this company. They grudgingly slipped out of pure engineering into the upper management positions the company’s size required-- Jack also heading sales, Gabe also heading he finances. They haven’t worked less than a fifty hour week in at least five years.  But for ten years they kept this one day sacred. Nothing got between them and their anniversary. 

Until Eastern Trucking and the Fucking Germans. 

Watchpoint cannot turn down the deal they’re offering-- complete, company-wide conversion from their old homebrewed document management to Overwatch. It’s the penetration into the transportation market they need, will give them the toe in the door to stretch into the engineering sector with their new swedish partner company. 

But the chief engineer of Eastern Trucking’s parent company-- headquartered conveniently in Fucking Germany--  is going on a characteristically european sabbatical starting next week, and the option was sign tomorrow or sign not at all-- so Jack spent their anniversary over the Atlantic, no doubt working off shitty airplane wifi, and Gabe spent it arms deep in reviewing Lindholme Tech’s financials until the lights went off on him and it sank in how fucking miserable he was. 

The green light on his fancy phone-and-videoconference setup lights up like a beacon a second before the thing starts to ring.  Gabe is so mired in his brooding that he jumps at the sound despite the warning, almost slapping the receiver off the hook. Anyone who has this number is either having an emergency or-

“Hi, baby,” a deep voice says, crackling with static. “Somehow I knew you’d still be there.” 

“Hi, Jackie.” The misery spills over; tears spill down his cheeks. “I miss you.” 

“Miss you too, Gabe. More than I can say.” Jack sighs.  There’s the creak of springs. Jack’s not using the video functionality-- there’s just the not-quite-black screen of the headset patiently waiting for a connection and Jack’s voice in his ear. “I just got into the hotel in Stuttgart. I’m not sure whether to try to nap or just pound coffee before the meeting tomorrow.” 

Today, technically, where Jack is. Gabe does the math. It’s four AM there. Six hours until the meeting. 

“I haven’t slept,” Jack says, reading his mind the way he does. “It’s still the same day, because I didn’t sleep.” 

“Take a nap, baby. Let this one go,” Gabe says quietly. 

“Never,” Jack says, with more energy than a man his age should have after a twelve hour flight. “It’s our day, Gabe. And we’re going to make it special, dammit.” 

“Yeah? Want to do one of our old long distance dates? Postmates and the same streaming movie?” Gabe says, a weak grin finding its way onto his face. 

“No…” There’s an odd note in Jack’s voice. “No, I had another idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you trust me, Gabe?” His husband’s voice is suddenly serious. 

“Of course.” It’s automatic. Of course he does. 

“You know I’d never put you in danger, right? You, us, the company? You know I’d do anything to keep you safe?” 

“I know, baby.” The misery is being shouldered aside by a new feeling-- wary curiosity. “What’s this about?” 

“...I left you a present. But it’s… it’s a little extreme and it’s not something we’ve had time to discuss.” 

The curiosity swells in him, displaces a little more sadness.  There’s a very small spark of something that isn’t arousal yet… but might be. He clings to it against the loneliness. 

“I’m in. I’m all in, Jackie. Surprise me.” 

“Okay.” Relieved, warm, loving-- Jack’s voice wraps around him. “Okay, lover, I need you to do me a favor. A couple favors.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Switch the phone over to headset for me, and put in your earbuds-- nice and secure, the only thing I want you to hear is me.” 

Gabe does, turning on the wireless headset and settling the buds into his ears-- expensive custom earpieces, they fit so well that the support hook that loops over the top of his ear is almost an afterthought. 

“Did it. Can I see you?” 

“Not yet, gorgeous.” Jack’s voice is so much closer, blotting out the late-night creaks and buzzes of the office, and he feels himself relaxing into it. “Have you loosened your tie yet?” 

“You know I have.” 

“I know.” Jack’s voice sparkles with fondness. “Pull it open a little more, but leave it on. Unbutton your shirt for me.”  

“What, no foreplay?” 

Jack laughs. “We’re getting there. This is all setup.” 

“I want my surprise.” 

“Soon.” 

Gabriel loosens up, feels a smile start to creep across his face as he unbuttons his shirt slowly.  “I’m unbuttoning. We could be on camera right now. You could be watching me get my tits out.” 

A soft groan. “I know. I know, but trust me, this is going to be worth it.” 

“It better be. ...Can I have a hint?” 

“Mmm.” Jack makes a theatrically thoughtful sound. “It’s… big.” 

“Predictable.” 

“And soft.” 

“...less predictable.” 

“But hard, too.” 

“Back to predictable.” 

“And it’s something I know you want. Is your shirt unbuttoned?” 

“Yep.” 

“On a scale of zero to ten, how aroused are you?” 

“I was at like a four, but you brought math into it and now it’s a three.” 

“Aw, sorry, honey.”  Jack doesn’t actually sound sorry. “I want you to lean over your desk for me.” 

“Of course you do.” 

So far it’s not the most surprising phone sex he’s ever had-- but it’s a damn sight better than sitting in the office getting weepy about missing Jack. 

“Start playing with yourself through your pants. If the math isn’t too hard, tell me when you hit about a five.” 

“Ooh, sexy numbers,” Gabe grumbles, but he pushes out of his desk chair with a groan-- oh, the stretch hurts good, he needs to be much better about flexibility exercises-- and leans over the desk, one elbow down, the other between his legs, lightly toying with himself.  

“I wish I was there,” Jack rumbles. Gabe hears the shuff of cloth-- there’s a familiar edge of desire in Jack’s voice that notches his own nascent arousal up, sets fire to a slow fuse in his belly. “God, I saw the slacks you picked out this morning-- they look so good on you, baby, I couldn’t keep my hands off you if I was there. My mouth.” 

“Kiss-ass,” Gabe fires back, teasing, because that’s what Jack is in a very literal sense.  He can and has spent hours lavishing Gabe’s buttocks with attention, nuzzling lightly into the cleft, taking the long slow route to the hole he loves to worship with his tongue, fingers, cock. Gabe’s gotten Jack to come hands free with just a vibrating plug and his ass grinding down onto Jack’s face, and the memory spikes him very suddenly to a five. 

“Five. It’s a five.” 

“Belt off,” Jack breathes. “Tell me when you hit six.” 

Gabe cradles his balls with one hand as he works his belt off with the other-- bracing himself on the desk with his pecs and his face, rubbing his cheek against the hard wood like a cat.  “Six, baby.” 

“Slacks off for me. What are you wearing under there? I didn’t see what you picked.” 

“Black briefs.” 

“Fuck,” Jack moans, and then grunts. Gabe knows the sound, slight pain and frustration. 

“...damn, Jack, you just choke it?” 

“Yeah. I’m nowhere near done with you.” Jack lets out a breath. Gabe knows he’s easing the pressure of his own fingers off his balls-- greedy Jackie, so hot for Gabe’s ass in nice underwear that he can’t contain himself. 

“You packed a change of pants, right? Otherwise you’d better put down a towel,” Gabe taunts with a grin. Jack’s fat cock is so leaky, so wet. 

“I’ve got a change, babe. I knew I was going to just fucking ruin these,” Jack purrs back, and the heat blooms through Gabe’s body. “Is your office door closed?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He knows what Jack wants even before the order comes, but he waits to hear it. Waits to be told. 

“Step out of your loafers and take’m off.  Pants, briefs, socks. Point your beautiful ass straight at the door, so anyone who comes in gets a nice view.” 

“Jesus.” They’ve played with voyeurism before, but this is a step further than most of their fantasies-- making it real this way. The building is empty and he knows it, only he and Jack have the security codes and the last employee badged out an hour ago, the janitor is gone, it's safe, but it makes his ears ring.

“Now. Tease yourself for me,” Jack murmurs, right into his ears. “Tickle that pretty dick nice and light, and get comfy.” 

Gabe obeys, slumping into the desk, one arm under him, the other just playing with the head of his dick. He feels easy and wanton. Exposed. Powerful and vulnerable.  “I’m real comfy.” 

“Now. Close your eyes. It’s time for your surprise.” 

In the dark, Gabe closes his eyes. 

“They shut?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Keep them shut for me, Gabe.” 

“YES, Jack, I’m keeping them shut.” 

“Good.” 

The slightest breeze hits his sweating ass, a little stir of air. 

“Jack, fuck, the door-” 

“Keep your eyes shut, Gabe. You trust me?” 

“I trust you,” he says. Might have been a pressure change. Is that something Jack could have set up? Some new gadget from their overseas partners? Or is there someone there, someone looking in-- 

He imagines the picture he makes in the dim light-- his ass the central point of the picture, framed by his shirt tails-- would they hide the shadow of his dick below, his teasing hand? Or just set them off? He wouldn’t be anything but meat at first-- his identity, his rank second to the fact that he’s fucking _presenting_. 

His dick jerks against his fingers, blind and needy. He becomes suddenly conscious of the sour smell of his sweet and the musk of his arousal

He doesn’t hear the floor creak-- he feels it, the vibration. A step. Another. 

“Jack--” 

“Eyes shut, baby. It’s okay,” Jack croons. 

“Jack…” 

“There was no way in hell I was going to leave you alone on our anniversary,” Jack says softly in his earbuds. 

“Oh, Jack,” he breathes. “Oh, Jack, no, the fucking contract-” 

“Ssh, it’s taken care of, I promise it’s fine.  Trust me.” 

Gabe does. With his life. Gabe can feel the heat of his body. He catches a scent cutting through his own. Cloves and sandalwood.  

“Jack,” he breathes. “Oh, fuck, Jack. I thought you were kidding...” 

Denim brushes against his bare ass, and he makes a startled sound. God, Jack’s-- he’s dressed up as-- 

Sweet good GENEROUS Jack without a jealous bone in his body. 

He knows what Jack is wearing without seeing it. He can picture the plaid flannel; the worn jeans. When did he buy this? 

...did he borrow it? 

Did he go to one of their fucking employees and ask for a set of his casual clothes? Did he tell him why? 

A vision intrudes behind his eyelids, the rightful owner of those clothes pressing up against his back, and he groans in despair and arousal. 

“Oh, fuck, Jack.” 

“I know,” Jack soothes. “I know. It’s okay. It’s really okay, Gabe.”

Seven years ago, Gabe hired a gangly intern, a scrappy kid half his age. 

Jesse’s not gangly anymore, or an intern. 

Jesse is the senior process engineer -- technically not under Gabe's direct management anymore, but in reality they work hand in glove. The younger man's a quiet killer in the boardroom, almost as good as Jack with an easy smile and a rug pulled out from under his opposition. Almost as good at Gabe in finding inefficiencies and process disconnects, dispatching them with ease. 

Gabe doesn’t remember when he looked up and realized the scrappy kid had grown into a man. One day he was just aware of it, the way the hollow cheeks had filled out, how skin and bones became padding over pure muscle. How t-shirts that once hung loose now clung over planes and curves. How that scraggly goatee had grown into a full, thick beard, maintained with love and with a distinctive oil-- hints of sandalwood and clove. The way he always smelled of a cigar, making Gabe's mouth water with a craving for more than tobacco.

Two months ago, Gabe screamed his name in bed.

Jack wasn't upset-- he wanted to talk about it, but Gabe laughed it off, too high, too harsh. Said it was the stress. Said it was a slip. It’s not that he doubted Jack’s sincerity but he doubted himself, and he didn’t want to risk thinking about it as a possibility. He’s in his forties, gray in his hair, he’s an old fart next to a vibrant young man like Jesse. 

Jack would have stopped if he said that. But he didn’t, and Jack didn’t let it go. There was no malice in him, just sweet teasing. Jokes about three-ways. Sometimes, balls-deep in Gabe he’d smile impishly and ask if he was thinking of him. Thinking of Jesse. 

Every time, Gabe said no. 

Half the time, it was a lie. 

But Jack knew. Beautiful, generous Jack. Now soft worn flannel drags over the small of his back, and big hands drag down a zipper, slide jeans down between them with the scrape of denim against vulnerable skin. The clothes smell like Jesse, the cigar smoke and spice. 

The heavy hot bulge against his ass is slippery in silk boxers instead of Jack’s usual cotton boxer briefs—it’s perfect. Jack’s thought of everything. Gabe frantically thinks he can smell the younger man’s musk, loses himself in a fantasy where Jack actually stole used boxers so Jesse’s sweat and funk would mingle with his own when he fucked Gabe over his own desk.

The stifled little sound he makes is undeniably a sob— the stress of the day and the corrosive disappointment flooding out of him, replaced by love and giddy heat. 

Big blunt fingers stroke along his ass reverently, and -- it must be an effort for Jack to go so quickly-- part the cheeks. One hand vanishes and comes back dripping with lube, cold drops on Gabe’s hot skin making it tingle. 

“Oh, Jack. Oh, Jack, I love you.” 

“But are you really thinking about me right now?” Jack murmurs knowingly into the earbuds, and Gabe finally realizes why Jack insisted on them— because it decouples Jack from the body behind him, makes the illusion perfect and complete. 

And he’s not thinking about Jack-- he’s not imagining Jack behind him. Jack went to all this trouble and it feels disloyal to be drooling thinking of another man’s cock and hands right now, even if that is the point--

“...baby, I-” 

“It’s okay, Gabe. Go ahead.”

He can’t hold it in. The fantasy is too clear. Jesse opening his office door, Jesse finding him like this-- his filthy old CFO like a bitch in heat, a waiting hole. Imagines Jesse’s eyes widening-- then lidding, a filthy sneer curling across his lips as he strolled in to take what was his for the picking. 

“Jesse,” he sobs out, and the hand on his ass grips tighter, the fingers push deeper. The cock against his hip twitches under the silk, slippery and delicious. 

“Oh god yes.” Jack sounds shaken, voice dropping deeper with passion. “Again, baby.”

“Jesse!”  

Fingers twist into him like a benediction. He’s on fire, shoving his ass back into them. Jack grinds against his back, his breath starting to rasp in the earbuds. “What do you want him to do?”

“I want— I want him to f-“

“Don’t tell me,” Jack rumbles. “Ask him. He’s right there with you.”

Blunt fingers toy with his hole, rasp over his rim before slipping back in for the stretch— god Jack even skipped his manicure for this how long has he been planning-- 

“F-fuck me,” Gabe stammers out, to the man in his imagination.  “Please, god, Jesse, fuck me, I’ve wanted it for so long—“

“That’s right,” Jack breathes, his voice shaking with arousal. “Tell him everything, Gabe. Every dirty thing you want.” 

He didn’t think he had any restraint left-- until it snaps and he comes undone completely. It spills out of his mouth, “Want you, want you so bad oh god I can’t keep my eyes off your cock, I want to nurse on it like a goddamn bottle I want you to finger me in the supply room I want you to break me in like a stallion I want — fuck me, Jesse, _please!_ ”

Jack bends him hard over the desk, jamming his crotch into Gabe’s ass, pulling himself out of the slit in his boxers to slap wet and ready against Gabe’s crack. Gabe whimpers in ecstacy and anticipation. 

Jack’s head bumps against his hole, stretches-- slides in. An inch, and out. More lube-- back in, and in, and in, opening him wide, filling him up.  

“Oh, Jesse. Oh, JESSE that’s so -- that’s so good--” 

 Jack tugs aside Gabe’s loose collar, pressing a sucking kiss into the join of neck and shoulder— unusually sloppy in his arousal, teeth missing the sensitive patch of nerves, but the bristle of his beard rasps over it and lights—

His beard?

Gabe’s eyes snap open. 

The screen of his deskset is no longer blank. At some point, Jack turned on his laptop camera. Gabe can see him spread out on a hotel bed, his thighs bracketing the display, his hard cock central, his beautiful body all shadow and angles in only the light of the screen. He’s wearing nothing but a headset.

Gabe can also see, in the top right corner, the corresponding feed from his end, activated automatically when Jack’s camera turned on. He can see his flushed face shoved near the camera, a sliver of his chest and rucked up undershirt obscured by the sharp angle he makes with the desk. 

He sees Jesse, face flushed and dark eyes smoldering, pressed close to his back

Jack takes his hand off his cock and retrieves a pad of legal paper — Gabe sees **KISS HIM** printed in sharpie, in Jack’s neat handwriting, before Jack flips the page. 

**TURN ON SPEAKERPHONE**

In the top right corner of the video Gabe watches Jesse reach past his shoulder.

A flannel clad arm reaches in front of him to switch the audio feed, and somehow that’s what makes it real. That’s what brings it crashing home. Gabe’s whole body jerks with surprise. Shock and fear and arousal meet in some magic, perfect proportion and hit him like a drug, leaving him helpless and high. 

Jesse gently removes the earbuds from his ears, his touch reverent and tender. In the video screen he looks like he can barely believe what he’s doing, and he smiles helplessly, shyly, as he glances back at the camera, at Jack fondling his own cock and beaming at them both. 

“J-jack?” Gabe whispers. 

“Happy anniversary, honey.” Jack lets go of his cock, takes a deep breath.  “Do you like it?” 

“I--” Fresh tears start to slip down his face. He realizes that he’s still playing with himself, hand stroking without his conscious permission. He feels like he’s floating outside his body. “Oh god. How-?” 

“...I wanted to do it right. But you kept ducking the issue and these German assholes fucked up the timing and you were going to be all alone-- so I went and asked him without you, honey. I’m sorry.” 

“It didn’t take much convincing,” Jesse rumbles behind him.  His hands stroke flat-palmed down Gabe’s chest. He shifts, and his cock stirs and twitches inside Gabe, and Gabe’s brain goes static white as he realizes all over that it’s Jesse buried inside him. Every nerve ending is suddenly hypersensitized, every place Jesse brushes against him sizzles with heat and significance. 

“I’ve been wanting you in my arms since I was nineteen, boss,” Jesse murmurs, soothing him like a skittish horse with a hand soft on his back. He looks at the camera, his worry visible in the corner of a display that’s mostly Gabe’s stunned face. “Sorry, am I allowed to talk?” 

“Yeah, Jess.” Jack jerks a nod and gives him a shaky grin. His hand drifts back to his cock, squeezing it again. “Yeah, you talk all you want now.” 

“Thank god for that, Mister M, been about killing me. God, been needing to tell you what a sweet thing you are, how goddamn gorgeous you are.” He gathers Gabe against him with thick arms around his chest and slides in a little deeper, seating his thick cock securely in Gabe’s ass. “Tell me it’s okay, boss? Tell me you really do want it?”

Gabe blinks tears from his eyes and looks to Jack, a question he can’t verbalize on his lips. 

Jack’s eyes are soft, even as his cock drools pre over his hand. “I love you, sugar-snap. Is he good?”

Gabe nods urgently, consent and a plea given before he can form words. 

“I - I love - oh fuck he’s good—“ 

Encouraged, Jesse is moving again, slow strokes that get longer and longer. Gabe rocks his hips back, mouth in an o, urging speed that never comes. 

Jesse watches him watch Jesse in the camera feed, eyes locked through the flawed mirror of the screen. He pauses while he’s almost all the way out, just his thick head resting inside Gabe’s hole. 

“Is that a yes, boss? Yes, you want it?” he drawls, playful now, his uncertainty nowhere to be found. He feeds Gabe an inch, slowly tugs it back out as Gabe’s body clings desperately to him, tries to keep him. 

“Yes,” Gabe breathes. 

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“Yes!” He jams his hips back, frustration making him crazy, his hand flying over his own cock.  “Please Jesse please I need it I need your cock Jesse fuck me pleAAH-“

Jesse thrusts deep into him, punching the air out of his lungs. He squares his stance and re-settles his grip on Gabe and fucks him sweet and hard until Gabe can’t stand it, and he’s sobbing “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse!” and coming apart and spurting across his clean desk and over his fingers as he comes, and comes like he’ll never stop. 

Jesse doesn’t stop— fucks him through it with even piston strokes, showing no sign of slowing. Gabe hangs in his arms dazed, nerves alive, feeling raw and hot with the awareness that Jack is watching another man fuck him, Jack is jerking himself as Jesse deep-dicks him, probably can’t decide which of them he wants to be more— 

“He’s so fucking good, Jack, I hope he lets you have it too, I want you to have this…” Gabe babbles, kept on the edge of terrible wonderful overstimulation by the cock working his guts.

Jesse moans and his hips stutter. The hotel bed creaks as Jack reacts just as strongly, head falling back, rutting his cock into his fist, neck straining like a saint in torment. 

Gabe’s had phonesex with Jack before, he knows what’s coming and it sends another aftershock through him. 

“Jesse-- Jesse you have to watch this part--” 

Jesse wrenches his eyes open in time to see Jack come-- sees his torso curl forward, sees him bow his head deep to catch his cum over his pretty face. Is he imagining it’s Gabe painting his skin-- or Jesse? Or both? 

Jesse hunches against Gabe’s back, unloading into his body with little rabbit thrusts and a broken sound, and Gabe arches back against him to take it deep inside. 

Jesse sags over him, cradling him close and precious and warm, and Gabe aches for Jack in that second— it isn’t fair that he doesn’t have arms around him, too. It isn’t fair that he gave Gabe something he wanted so much and he doesn’t get anything. 

“Wish you were here, baby,” he whispers, hoping the conference receiver can pick it up. He’s wrung out. 

“...that’s from both of us, Mister M,” Jesse says weakly. 

“I’ll be home soon.” Jack reaches past the camera’s field of view, his bicep filling the side of the display. Gabe knows he’s touching the screen, face soft and wistful. “Until then, take care of each other, okay?”

“Yessir,” Jesse says, a meaningful note thrumming through it. He kisses Gabe’s neck softly, just the brush of lips and beard, and Gabe melts. He can feel Jesse softening inside him, the trickle of cum starting to leak out down his thighs. He feels wrung out and utterly at peace. 

Twice, now, he’s come screaming Jesse’s name. Jack beams out of the phone, glowing and cum-smeared and adoring like he’s never wanted anything more than to watch a younger man fuck his husband... and Gabe knows it won’t be the last time. 

And he won’t be the only one. 

“Happy Anniversary,” he whispers to them both.  “Best one yet.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Specific warnings: In this fic, one partner in a committed relationship is led to believe he's having sex with his husband, when he's actually having sex with his secret crush. He doesn't discover this until mid-coitus, at which point he consents to the new partner. 
> 
> If it needs to be said: Never, ever, ever do that to a partner in real life. No matter how much they trust you. ESPECIALLY if they trust you. Fun for porn, no-no for real relationship.


End file.
